


The Bleedin' Angel Constantine

by druxykexy



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Humor, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are we going to do about his wings?” Zed insisted. “People are going to figure out that’s not a costume if they look close enough.”</p>
<p>Chas shrugged. “Blanket?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chas glanced at Zed, but she was having just as hard of a time keeping her face blank as he was.

“You don’t believe me,” Mrs. Windesar said. She seemed to sink into herself, folding her hands into her lap and dropping her gaze to the pumpkin in the middle of her living room floor. “I know how ridiculous I sound.”

“It’s not that,” Zed said, doing a decent job of recovering. “And it’s not the first thing we’ve heard that’s unusual.”

Detective Corrigan wouldn’t have tipped them off about anything that wasn’t—although he’d neglected to mention she believed her husband had been turned into a squash.

“Well, I see no alternative.” Mrs. Windesar’s focus shifted to Chas. “You’re going to have to pick him up.”

Chas frowned. “You want me to take the pumpk—your husband—with us?”

“No, just try to lift him up.” She leaned forward, as if to get a better view. “But be careful. I don’t want him injured.”

Zed caught his eye and gave him a slight shrug.

Years of knowing John had made him leery of innocent seeming requests, at least where magic was concerned, but if anyone was going to do it, he was the safest candidate. He stooped to pick up the pumpkin, only to jerk back upright when his fingers lost their grip. It was heavier than it appeared.

Mrs. Windesar’s expression became almost satisfied for an instant before it returned to one of grief.

Prepared this time, Chas widened his stance and got a better hold before lifting, but he only managed to get it a few inches off the ground.

“Henry was never a small man. Nearly three hundred pounds last he was measured.”

Chas moved out of the way as Zed squatted down beside the pumpkin. She placed her hand beside the stem, her forehead wrinkling in concentration.

“Was Henry eating something before he changed?” Zed asked after a moment.

Mrs. Windesar's eyes narrowed, looking almost offended. “No, he was busy bringing his pumpkins inside.”

“Some type of hard candy maybe? In a black wrapper with stars and—”

“Oh, yes. Zadster’s. He got those from some shop downtown.”

Zed stood up, sharing a glance with Chas. “Did anyone else eat any?”

“No. I don’t care for hard candies.” Mrs. Windesar’s frown deepened. “You think those were responsible for this?”

“We can’t know for certain,” Zed said. “But I promise you we’re going to check into it and do everything we can to help Henry.”

It was similar to the assurances John tended to make, except that Zed seemed to genuinely believe them. John only wanted to.

“We’re going to need the rest of the candy.” Chas moved to stand by Zed. “And the address of the shop where your husband got them.”

Mrs. Windesar shook her head. “The candy would have been in his pocket." She paused to look forlornly at the pumpkin. "But I’ll write down the address for you.”

Zed took the piece of paper as soon as Mrs. Windesar finished writing.

As they left, Chas gave her one John’s cards, promising to contact her if they found a solution.

“I think I’ve heard this fairy tale before,” Zed said as she slid into the seat of the truck. “Stay up past midnight and get turned into a—”

“The coach got turned into a pumpkin, not Cinderella.”

Zed raised an eyebrow at him. “And you would know this because…?”

“Because I have a daughter who loves that story.” Chas turned the key in the ignition. “So where are we going?”

He heard Zed unfold the paper, but no sound followed other than the hum of the engine. He glanced over to see a deep furrow in her brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mr. Wheeler’s—the lead John was following.”

Chas shrugged. “Then he’s on the right track.”

For a moment Zed appeared disturbed by his lack of concern, but then she shook it off, as if she was learning to stuff her feelings down as well as the rest of them.

"Let's just hope he doesn't have a sweet tooth."

“He’s on the job,” Chas said, shifting the truck into drive. “He’s not going to get caught in something like that.”

“Let's hope not, because if we show up and he’s been turned into a frog…” Zed glanced over at him, one corner of her mouth turning upward. “I’m not going to be the one that has to kiss him.”

Chas snorted. “He’d have to be a prince first.”

Zed returned his grin. “Acts enough like one.”

Chas’ laughter startled him as he pulled out onto the highway. Of all the psychics John could have taken in, he’d done alright with Zed.

 

#

 

The sign for the shop read: _Mr. Wheeler’s Hot Jam and Wonders_ , and through the window Chas could see rows and rows of a kitschy mix of hot sauce, jams, and souvenirs. He couldn’t see the front counter, but he could vaguely make out voices arguing and hoped one of them wasn’t John’s.

Chas had called him twice on drive over, and once more on the walk—it was impossible to park anywhere in the French Quarter, so they’d left the truck in the parking lot by the hotel—but John still wasn’t answering. It didn’t make a lot of sense to revisit somewhere John had already covered, but since Chas couldn’t get ahold of him, he’d rather check it out. Just to be safe.

Chas pushed the door open and rounded the corner of the display shelf, only to come to a halt.

“If you don’t leave,” the shopkeeper was saying to John, “I’m going to be forced to call the police.”

Zed crashed into Chas from behind, and he was absently aware of her pushing her way around him, and of the way she froze too once she had a clear view.

John was standing in front of the counter. His jacket, shoes, and socks were strewn across the floor. His tie was dangling loosely, the top buttons on his shirt undone, and this state of public dishevelment would have been cause enough for alarm if it wasn’t entirely overshadowed by his wings.

They were huge. Golden-white feathers arched high over his shoulders, catching stray sun rays and bouncing them back with shimmering light.

“Is that a costume?” Zed asked, her voice tight.

“I hope so.” But even as Chas said it, he watched the wings twitch in time with John’s movements, and he didn’t think John could afford something that good, at least not on short notice.

Maybe it was an illusion. Something John had cast to help with the case.

John turned at the sound of their voices, and his face broke into a wide smile that looked out of place. It was too bright, too easy, as if he’d never experienced a moment of doubt or disappointment.

John strode toward them and one wing clipped the top of the display shelf, clearing it of bottles and jars, and splattering Chas’ hope for an illusion down with the shattered glass and the dozen shades of red goo.

The shopkeeper swore, reaching for something Chas hoped wasn’t a phone or a shotgun. But he didn’t get a chance to see what it was because John was cupping both sides of his face, pulling him down to kiss one cheek and then the other with the kind of sloppy enthusiasm he usually only managed when drunk.

“Happy to see you, Francis,” John said, and the brilliance of his smile didn't diminish even once Chas had pried himself free.

“Francis?” Zed glanced at Chas, but he didn't respond. He had bigger things to worry about than his birth name, such as who this was—because, angel or not, he certainly wasn’t John.

Chas twisted his fist in the front of the impostor’s shirt, yanking him up so he could stare directly into his face and watch for any signs of lying.

The impostor’s eyes lit up in a way that was startlingly familiar and a soft sound escaped his lips. He made no move to fight back.

Chas refused to be swayed by his apparent docility. “What the hell is going on?”

“A bit of business.” His eyes lingered on Chas’ mouth and he licked his lips. “Always happy to play later though, when it’s through.”

Chas hesitated. That had sounded like something John would’ve said.

One side of the impostor’s face had been lifted in a smile that was almost indecent, but then, as if sensing Chas’ indecision, his expression became more serious.

“This wanker”—he jerked his head toward the shopkeeper—“has been handing out bedeviled candy as door prizes. Turns the poor sods into the last thing they spoke to.”

Chas opened his mouth, but then he closed it again, a new theory starting to form.

“Did you eat any of it, John?” Zed asked.

“Had me a bite, yeah. But don’t worry, love.” He twisted around in Chas’ grasp so he could wink at her. “Angels are immune to such potions.”

“Did Manny tell you that?” Chas asked, his grip on the shirt slackening.

“Nah, he was going on about that whole rising darkness and choosing sides—all a lot of hot air when he’s talking to one of his own, you know?”

Chas released John and closed his eyes. He wished he could shut out his thoughts.

“I’m calling the police,” the shopkeeper announced.

Chas’ eyes snapped open, darting to where the man was brandishing the phone at them like it was some form of repellant.

“Wait,” Chas said. “We’ll pay for the damages.” The last thing he wanted was to have to try to explain John’s wings to the police. Corrigan was only able to cover up so much.

Confusion had crossed John’s face at the word _damages_ , and he turned, glancing around until he spotted the broken jars and debris on the carpet. He frowned down at it as if he couldn’t quite figure out how it had happened, but was beginning to have some suspicions.

John started to walk toward the mess, but Chas grabbed him—gentler this time—to keep him in place.

“We need cash.” When Chas got no response he added, “John?”

John transferred his frown to Chas.

“Cash?” Chas prompted.

“What would I be doing with cash? Bloody human problem.”

Chas found himself returning the frown. Everything on Mrs. Windesar’s husband had disappeared when he’d become a pumpkin. Chas hoped that wasn’t a universal trait of the curse, and that John's money hadn't vanished when his wings appeared. The last thing Chas needed was to end up paying for this out of his own resources.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

“Just look in your pockets,” Chas said.

John looked down at himself, but beyond that he made no move to comply. Chas was beginning to notice that he didn’t look disagreeable so much as simply…lost.

Chas heard the shopkeeper shift in impatience. They didn't have time for this.

“You keep it hidden.” Chas forced his tone to sound as calm as he could. “Let me show you.”

Chas went slowly, expecting at any moment that John would flinch away, but he only looked at Chas curiously as he was patted down, even lifting his arms and widening his stance to allow better access. John’s breath hitched when Chas got to his inner thigh, but no wisecrack or innuendo followed.

Chas found the hidden pocket sewn into the seam and slid his fingers inside, retrieving the wad of bills, and as he brushed against the thin fabric John grunted, pressing into Chas’ touch.

Chas straightened, doing his best to ignore John’s reaction—or the increase it brought in his own heart rate—as he turned toward the counter. It was one of John’s larger stashes, and he peeled off several hundreds and handed them to the shopkeeper.

To the man’s credit, he didn’t ask for more, but his expression stayed unwelcoming and he thrust an accusing finger toward John.

“I want him out. Now.”

“He will be, we just need to ask—”

Zed interrupted Chas with a touch to his chest. “Take him back to the hotel. I’ll stay and handle this.”

There was determination on her face, and it was true there was no reason for all three of them needed to be here. At the very least, the man would be more likely to talk if John wasn’t there.

Chas divided the cash in half and handed her a stack. “Try to bring some of it back. We’ll be in..." Chas’ eyes drifted to John’s wings, to the unfamiliar way he just watched Chas make arrangements without trying to take over—there were bound to be more unknowns from the curse he’d yet to discover. The last thing Chas wanted was to bring all that back to his own room, where his name was the one on the bill.

"John’s room,” Chas finished.

“Meet you there.” Zed gave him a stiff nod as she switched her attention to the shopkeeper.

“C’mon.” Chas motioned John toward him. “You’re coming with me.”

He expected John to argue, to tell him that this was official angel business, but instead he just gave Chas a pleased smile and a slight incline of his head before he moved past him. John’s new compliancy must have come from the spell, but rather than being a relief, it made Chas uneasy.

John had almost made it all the way to the door before Chas realized he still wasn’t wearing his coat or shoes.

“Hold on.” Chas quickly snatched up John’s things. He folded the coat over his arm—as much as he wished he could use it to cover the wings, it wasn’t nearly big enough—and offered the shoes and socks to John. “Here.”

John made no move to take them. “Don’t need those.”

Chas stopped, momentarily at a loss for words, and John turned to leave as if the matter was settled.

Chas shook off his surprise, seizing John’s arm before he made it to the door. “We’ve got to walk at least six blocks. On pavement. So yes, you do.”

John squinted at him the way he did whenever faced with something he found incomprehensible or unpleasant. Or both.

It was probably some weird angel rule—shoes were unclean or some other such nonsense. Chas had never actually seen Manny, so for all he knew maybe all of them appeared barefoot. But Chas didn’t have time to play twenty questions and figure it out.

“Oh hell.” He dropped into a crouch and seized one of John’s ankles. As with before, John was oddly pliant, scowling slightly but allowing Chas to lift one of his feet and roll on a sock.

Behind Chas, Zed and the shopkeeper had gone completely silent, and he could feel their eyes boring into him as he worked, making his fingers rubbery as he pushed a shoe over John’s heel.

“This is just like dressing Geraldine when she was four,” Chas grumbled, trying to brush away his embarrassment as he started on the laces.

He felt a touch on his head and looked up to see that John’s scowl had vanished, and he was looking down at Chas with something that bordered on affection.

“Wouldn’t say being compared to the one you love most,” John said, his voice low and rich, “is much of a hardship.”

Chas stared at him for a long moment before he remembered that wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing. He jerked his head back down, but it was too late, he could feel the heat spreading across his face and neck, and _damn it_ , John always did manage to say the worst things at the worst times.

Chas concentrated on finishing the task, and even though his color had mostly returned to normal by the time he stood up, he took John’s arm and dragged him out of the shop without making eye contact with anyone.

John went willingly through the door, but as soon as they were outside, he pulled away and took out a cigarette.

Chas watched while John lit it and took a slow drag, uncomfortably aware of the people passing as they turned to stare. The smoke curled upward, breaking apart against his wings, and Chas absently wondered if it would stain them yellow the way it did upholstery.

When John was finally ready, they started to walk.

“Try to keep your wings tucked in,” Chas said, moving slightly ahead so they wouldn’t take up the entire sidewalk. “You don’t want to hit anyone.”

John gave him a lopsided smile, as if he thought Chas was being ridiculous, but he folded them in more tightly anyway.

They were getting a steady supply of odd looks, but no one actually seemed alarmed by John’s appearance. If anything, they seemed to approve, and John even receiving a few cheers and catcalls. Chas suspected it would have been different if this had happened anywhere but New Orleans.

They made it almost all the entire way through the six block walk to the hotel before they were stopped.

“Oh wow,” a girl said. She looked to be in her mid-teens and was wearing a shirt with the words: _Gabriel is my wingman_. She stepped close to John, as if she intended to divine the mystery of his existence from his pores. “You’re perfect.”

John had been backing away from her toward the shop windows, but his face twisted into a lopsided smile at her words.

He shrugged. “I do me best.”

“This is exactly what an angel would look like. Gritty, dirty clothes, sloppy hair—it just wouldn’t be possible to remain untouched when you’re down in the trenches, doing God’s work where it’s most needed.” She motioned at another teen who was lurking behind her, a boy whose forearms were covered with neon crucifix bracelets almost up to his elbows and a shirt that read: _bible squad_. “Get your camera.”

“If you don’t mind,” she said to John, “I’d like to get a picture with you.”

“Sorry,” Chas said, “but we’re in a hurry to—”

“Don’t mind a bit.” John gave Chas a brief smirk before moving closer to the shop window and out of the way of the foot traffic. He flared his wings as the girl came to stand beside him.

She slung an arm around his waist and John looked forward proudly as her friend snapped the photo.

Chas rolled his eyes.

“I can’t wait to see your act tomorrow. You’ve done a great job with these,” she said, reaching out to touch one of the feathers. “How do you make them move?”

Chas stepped forward, ready to get between John and the girl if necessary, but John caught his eye and shook his head, _no._

“Trade secret.” John winked at her.

“Of course.” The girl smiled, apparently accepting that as an answer.

She switched places with the boy so she could take his photo next.

“What about your friend?” the boy asked when they were finished, glancing at Chas. “Is he supposed to be dressed up as the lost soul you’re trying to save?”

“Something like that,” John said and the glee on his face made Chas want to smack it off.

“We should get a picture with both of you.” She looked up at Chas and then back at John. “But it won’t look right if the angel’s the shorter one.”

“We could have him kneel in prayer,” the boy suggested.

But before Chas could say exactly what he thought of that idea, John stepped in front of him, his feathers covering Chas’ face and making him cough.

“Francis isn’t exactly the kneeling type. Now me on the other hand…” The look he shot Chas was absolutely filthy, but luckily no one else was able to see it. “I understand the importance of humility.”

Chas laughed, despite himself, but his amusement quickly faded because something wasn’t adding up. John’s behavior was different, obviously, but he was still acting a lot more like…well, like _John_ , than Chas would have expected from an angel.

“Amen,” the girl said and both she and the boy smiled. She turned to point at some concrete steps just past them. “What if he sat on the stairs?”

This was taking too long. They needed to get back to the hotel so they could figure out exactly what was wrong with John and what needed to be done to make it right.

Chas shook his head. “No, just…” He gestured for John to go in front of him. “If you stand on the first step, that’ll even us out.”

“That’s the spirit, mate.” John grinned at him as he took his place in front of Chas. “Now, just look at me like I’m the light of your life and we’ll be all set.”

Chas was scowling when the camera flashed, but it was the best they were going to get because he was done.

“Great,” the boy said, putting the camera back in his bag.

Chas stepped back, giving John room to exit the stairs.

“What’s your email address?” the girl asked John. “I’ll send you copies.”

“Don’t have an email, love,” John said, which wasn’t true but Chas suspected he thought it was. “Angels don’t need that kind of thing.”

The girl laughed, but Chas could see she was disappointed.

“I have one,” Chas offered. “I’ll share them with him later.” He gave her an address that wasn’t connected to anything personal. Who knew, if they could get this curse reversed, maybe he could blackmail John with them later.

“Can’t wait to see you both at the revival!” the girl said as she and the boy waved goodbye.

Confusion flickered across John’s face, but he masked it quickly, waving back at them.

It was, without a doubt, the most peaceful encounter Chas had ever seen John have with religious types.

“C’mon,” Chas said, patting John’s arm. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”

John nodded, looking oddly content as they resumed their walk.

Chas was just grateful that they only one block left to go.

 


	2. Chapter 2

John was no help at all when they arrived at the hotel. He didn’t remember having been there before, let alone which room was his. But after a brief search, Chas found John’s keycard in his coat, and the room number was conveniently printed on the paper slip.

It was a relief to step into the room and shut the door behind them.

Chas watched as John strode past him and began the awkward process of trying to situate himself at the head of the king size bed. The wall was too close for him to turn around on the mattress, requiring him to climb off and on again so he could back into place. The length of his wings meant they had to be partially extended in order for him to sit—a serious design flaw if all angels were made that way, but Chas suspected it was just further evidence that John wasn’t standard issue.

Finally John succeeded, collapsing against the headboard with a graceless huff as his feathers swept across the nightstands.

Chas leapt forward, catching one of the bedside lamps as it crashed toward the floor. He eyed the one on the far side, but it only wobbled dangerously.

John made a slight incline of his head that could have been an apology or thanks—although Chas wasn’t certain it was either—as Chas moved the lamps to a safer location.

Whatever John had to say about getting cheap hotels, they had an advantage over this one in that everything would have been bolted down.

“Didn’t exactly have angels in mind when designing these accommodations, did they now?” John said, drawing a leg in close so he could examine his shoe. “You’d think the poor sods would be a bit more welcoming of a little celestial grace.” He yanked at the shoelaces that Chas had double-knotted out of habit.

“Bloody hell.” John changed tactics and tried to force the shoe off without undoing the knot.

“Are angels supposed to talk like that?”

John glanced at Chas, his brow creasing in puzzlement, before his attention was drawn away by his sudden success. He chucked the shoe across the room where it bounced off the carpet to thump against the dresser.

“You know, use profanity?” Chas insisted.

Surprise flickered across John’s features only to devolve into a bemused snort. "Got my meaning across, didn’t it? Whole sodding point of language is to communicate. Only bad words are the ones that fail to do the job." John managed to get his other shoe loose, and he tossed it and his socks over by the first one.

Neatness, apparently, wasn’t a requirement of being an angel either.

Chas took a seat at the foot of the bed and attempted to look like he wasn’t observing John closely as he asked his next question.

“So, can you ask the other angels, or tune into heaven or whatever, and find out what’s going on with the transformations?”

“It’s not a radio, mate, can’t just be switched on as you please.”

Or it could, but John just didn’t have that ability.

“I thought angels were always in touch with heaven,” Chas said carefully, “that there was a link between angels and—”

“We don’t have a bloody hive-mind.”

“But if you have angelic abilities, then you should be—”

John’s wings snapped against the wall as he leaned forward, tense.

Chas was glad he’d decided to move the lamps.

“Questioning my abilities, are we?”

Chas held John’s gaze, not backing down from the challenge. John had never been one to initiate a fight, and he didn’t think John would actually try to smite him over this now—even if he did look formidable with his wings flared like the defensive frill on a lizard.

As expected, the tension, if not the irritation, drained out of John after a moment, and he leaned back to settle against the headboard. He gave Chas a long look that was a mixture of resignation and disappointment.

Chas found it bothered him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been the source of that look before, but it was different now somehow.

“Need proof before you’ll give your trust.” John shrugged. “Can’t say I blame you.” He held out his hand as tendrils of fire snaked out from his palm.

Chas frowned down at the orange flames as they curled around John’s fingers. Convincing someone who could do magic that he wasn’t, in fact, divine was going to be a problem.

John let the fire flicker out and retrieved a cigarette from his pocket. He seemed to be waiting for Chas to say something.

Chas didn’t want to say anything. He wanted a drink. And knowing John, there would be whiskey or gin stashed in the freezer tray of the mini-fridge.

Except, with the way John’s angel rules worked, alcohol would probably, _conveniently_ , be a celebration of God’s bounty, and if he wanted some too, well, it was hard to think of a worse idea right now than getting John drunk.

John spoke, interrupting Chas’ thoughts. “Francis—”

“You’ve got to stop calling me that.” Chas watched hurt flash across John’s face and he continued quickly. “It’s Chas, just Chas.”

“Chas,” John said slowly, as if testing it out.

“You don’t remember everything, do you?” At least this was one part of John’s condition he could safely talk about.

John shrugged. “Memory’s a bit spotty, but I remember the important parts.”

Chas laughed before he could stop himself. “And my name’s not one of those.”

“Name’s just trappings.” John inclined his head toward Chas. “Got a good clear picture of your soul.”

“Ah.” Chas glanced toward the window, suddenly uncomfortable.

After a long moment, Chas said, “Look, Zed’s going to be back soon. Why don’t we watch TV until then?”

“Angels watch over living things, not pictures of them.”

Of course they did.

Chas looked back at John and found his expression had become thoughtful—no, worse than thoughtful, calculating. It was pinched up in that way it did when he was sorting out a plan, trying to figure out the best way to approach his objective.

Chas braced himself for whatever request John was going to make.

“You should take off your shoes.”

Chas blinked at him. He started to refuse, but then stopped to wait for John to elaborate. Nothing was ever as innocent as it seemed.

John sighed but his expression remained determined. He swooped down to lift Chas’ boot onto his lap, his fingers immediately going to the laces.

“Cut that out.” Chas reached out to stop him, but froze when he saw the look on John’s face.

It was the bad look. The look that meant John was going to fight for this with everything he had—use any means at his disposal to wheedle and deal and manipulate until he got whatever it was he deemed so important.

And right now, apparently, that was taking off Chas’ shoes.

Well, it could have been worse. It could have been his pants.

Chas exhaled loudly, leaning back on his arms, and John seemed to take this as a blessing to proceed.

John wrestled off one boot and then the other, tossing them along with Chas’ socks to join his own on the floor.

“It’s better, isn’t it?” John asked.

“Except that I wanted them on.”

John smirked at him, his hands idly stroking Chas’ feet where they remained in his lap.

Chas considered taking them back, but there was something in John’s demeanor, a contentment that he didn’t often see—if he ever had at all—and it made Chas hesitant to break the contact.

“What is with you and the shoes?” Chas asked.

“Impossible to feel where you’re at with ’em on.” John cocked his head in a near shrug, giving him a slow smile as if he didn’t really expect Chas to understand. “Just standing, otherwise.”

Chas hoped, for John’s sake, that he wouldn’t remember any of this when they got him back to normal.

John rubbed his fingers along the sole of Chas’ foot. It felt good, soothing, and Chas decided to let it continue. Hell, maybe if angel John offered to massage something he’d actually mean it, unlike regular John, who’d mean a whole lot of something else.

“So you and me, we’re close, yeah?” John asked, his tone changing to sound an awful lot like regular John.

The muscles in Chas’ shoulders stiffened and he forced them to relax. This didn’t have to be going where it seemed like it was going.

“You could say that,” Chas said.

“Like Jonathan and King David?”

Chas didn’t remember exactly who they were, but they came from the bible, so it was probably safe.

“Sure.”

John beamed. “Thought so. The way my temporary body reacts to you, it couldn’t be anything else.”

“You—” Chas decided to skip the trickier part of that sentence. “Uh, have a temporary body?”

“This?” John looked down at himself. “Is just a physical manifestation of my celestial form.” He grinned. “But it’s not bad, yeah?”

Chas snorted. “Aren’t angels supposed to be modest?”

John shrugged in a way that said he wasn’t actually conceding anything. “The human form was God’s most perfect creation. Be a bit blasphemous not to acknowledge that.”

Chas shook his head, amused.

“Never been the stingy sort, with praise, or...” John raised his wings up and out of the way, spreading his arms out along the headboard as if in an attempt to make his skinny body appear larger. “More than willing to share, if you’re interested.”

Chas closed his eyes and took a breath.

It wasn’t that he was opposed to the idea of sex with John—he was just opposed to the idea of sex with John for the _reasons_ that John wanted to have sex. Because other than the brief flirting that John did with everyone, he only came on to Chas when he was drunk. Usually at two a.m. when he’d struck out of other options. Chas was his last resort.

John moved forward to straddle Chas’ thighs, his wings half-raised behind him like a dove’s. His arms slid around Chas’ neck, John’s mouth seeking his.

Chas grabbed his arms, pushing him back to stop the kiss.

A deep furrow appeared on John’s brow. “Thought you said we were like Jonathan and David?”

“Um…I don’t know. Look, you’re affected by things. If you had your memories you’d know you don’t want this.”

“I’d want this.” John tilted his head to the side, the set of his jaw growing thoughtful. “Always did.”

Chas started to shake his head, but then stopped. “Thought you didn’t have all your memories?”

“It’s not a memory, it’s a feeling.” John frowned, but as usual it was at something going on in his own thoughts and not because of Chas’ response. “Just had doubts before.”

“Doubts are a good reason not to—”

“Not about _you_.” His wings shook, and John looked back at them, as if the motion had happened without his consent. Regardless, he seemed to find the sight soothing, and when he spoke again his tone was calmer. “It’s different now.”

Different. So John did know that he’d been something else before.

“What do you remember—”

John clamped his hand over Chas’ mouth. He gave him a half-smile, but it seemed as if there was something raw under it, something he didn’t want exposed.

“We’ve got a bit of time to kill,” John said. “No sense spending it on this.”

Chas let his eyebrows drift slowly upward.

John rolled his eyes. “Alright, have it your way.” He didn’t pull his hand away like Chas expected, but leaned in closer. “I can sense there were—deficits—in my character before. Wasn’t willing to drag you down with me.”

That John was insecure, that he believed he was defined by his inadequacies, was hardly a revelation. But that he thought that Chas was somehow better—that the two of them weren’t equally fucked up, equally incapable of maintaining a human relationship with anyone but each other—that was new.

And it made John’s attempts to seduce him, drunk and alone in the middle of the night, take on an entirely different light. For the first time Chas felt ashamed of how abruptly he’d turned him down.

John was watching him, and he must have seen something in Chas’ eyes for his expression grew hopeful. He touched his forehead to Chas’ and pressed a kiss to the back of his own hand where it still covered his mouth.

And even though Chas willed it not to be, it was still painfully endearing, and he snorted at himself—at both of them—as John let him go.

“Well?” John asked.

God, he was tempted... To run his hands under that wrinkled white shirt, slip them down the black slacks, kiss every inch of him until John was thoroughly convinced that there was nothing inside of him that was too impure, too tainted to deserve—

But John wasn’t himself. And unless he could verify that this was really what John wanted, nothing could happen.

Chas shook his head. “The answer’s no.”

John froze, as if he he’d thought they’d moved past the point where rejection was a possibility. Slowly he climbed off of Chas’ lap and scooted back to sit at the far end of the bed.

“Goliath fell, eventually,” John said after a moment. “Even if it did take a bit of divine intervention, finding the right man and all.”

Chas frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I’m biding my time.”

“Until when?” Chas gave him a sharp look.

“Until you change your mind.” John wrapped his arms around his knees, tucking his wings behind him as much as he could. It made him seem vulnerable, and only John would appear more innocent when cursed. “It’s bloody inevitable, you and me.”

Chas took a moment to scratch at his temple, his hand blocking most of John from his view. They were probably going to have to talk about this once John was better, and he’d never been good at that sort of thing. John was even worse.

“Chas, you—”

There was a knock on the door, a quick familiar tapping, and Chas had never heard anything so wonderful in his life.

“It’s me,” Zed said from the other side of the door.

“I’ll get it. Stay put,” Chas said, preferring if John—or at least his wings—remained where they were.

“Knock yourself out.” John stretched out against the headboard. “If you’re so eager to be the one to let Mary in.”

Chas stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Mary?” He shook his head, clearing it. “Never mind. Just don’t call her that. She goes by Zed.”

There was another knock. “Chas? John? Is everything ok?”

“Zed?” John raised his eyebrows. “Am I the only one using a bloody proper name around here?”

Chas gave John a shrug before glancing through the peephole and unbolting the lock.

The door swung open and Zed’s eyes went straight to John as if to confirm that, yes, he was still an angel.

John gave her a stiff wave.

“What’d you find out?” Chas asked.

Zed’s eyes moved back to Chas. “I got the rest of the supply from Wheeler’s.” She held up a paper bag. “But he’s been handing them out for the last three days, so there are already a lot out there.”

“It’s too late for that, we’ll have to stop it at the source, love,” John said, jumping up from the bed and snapping his wings, the backwind sending the menus and complimentary coffee cups skittering to the floor.

John took the bag from Zed. “And we’ll do that right after I figure out just how to get to the sweet taffy center of our evil.”

Chas rolled his eyes, and Zed squinted at John as if trying to figure something out.

“The shopkeeper at Wheeler’s said the candy was a bonus gift he got with a regular shipment. But that wasn’t right—I picked up on something, an image of someone slipping the package into a delivery truck. It wasn’t an employee, but I didn’t get any more details than that.”

John took one of the candies from the bag and held it up to the light between his thumb and forefinger. “How many licks do you take, I wonder?”

“John.” Chas took a step toward him. “Don’t eat—”

John twisted to keep it away from Chas. “Was a figure of speech, mate, just having a look. Besides, I already told you it doesn’t work on angels.” He cocked his head, giving Chas a sly grin. “Always a pleasure to know you’re worried about me though.”

Chas didn’t say anything but took a moment to rub at his temples.

“Can you cast a spell or something and tell us where they came from?” Zed asked.

“Angels don’t use spells.”

There was a stunned moment of silence. “Then how—”

“Why would we when we’ve got the sodding grace of God at our disposal?” John winked at her as he went to get his bag.

Zed frowned at Chas. “Are angels supposed to talk like that?”

“I think what we’re seeing,” Chas said softly, “is what John _thinks_ an angel should be like.”

John began sorting through his spell components, and Chas watched Zed’s confusion turn into a sort of resigned understanding.

“So he’s not really an…?”

“I don’t think so.” Chas shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “But it’s probably better if we don’t tell him that.”

A deep crease appeared on her forehead, and she opened her mouth as if to argue.

Chas spoke first. “He’s not easy to convince.” He looked over at John, and her eyes followed his.

John was humming pleasantly to himself as he strung a chain onto the candy. He sliced his palm, wincing a little but not losing his cheerful demeanor as he wrapped the other end of the chain around the wound. For once, his wings remained perfectly still as he held the candy over a map like a pendulum.

Zed exhaled slowly. “I guess I can’t blame him for not wanting to give up what he is now to go back to what he was.”

While that wasn’t what Chas had meant, he could see her point. John did seem happier, but it wasn't as if they could just leave him this way. Dwelling on it wouldn't do any of them any favors.

“There!” John jabbed his finger at a smudge on the map. “That’s where we’ll find the source.”

Chas turned toward Zed.

“I’ll go,” Zed whispered before he could speak.

Chas shook his head. “Not by yourself. This won’t be just information this time.”

“Look, I know you don’t want to be stuck angel-sitting, but we can’t just leave him here. Not by himself when—”

“Having a chat are we?” John slung an arm around Zed’s shoulders. “Plenty of time for that on the drive.”

The look Zed gave him was doleful, but she didn’t push him off.

“Because I know you’re not considering leaving behind the only bloke who knows where we’re going.”

“It’s on the map,” Chas said.

John gave Chas a measured look. “ _Was_ on the map. Mysteriously, it’s not anymore.”

Chas exhaled slowly as he watched John slip away from Zed. Outwardly he appeared calm, but little agitated movements of his wings betrayed him as he repacked his bag.

Chas wasn’t certain which option was likely to get them into more trouble, bringing John along or leaving him here unsupervised.

John started to shoulder his pack, only to flinch when it banged into a wing. He swung it back around to his front with a hiss, and then stared straight at them as if it hadn’t happened.

“Well, we best be going,” John said.

Chas took a calming breath. “Put your shoes on.” He went to separate John’s from his own.

Zed looked at Chas’ feet and frowned. “Why are both of your—”

“Don’t ask.”

All of the laces on both pairs of shoes were still double-knotted, and Chas repressed a sigh.

“On second thought,” Chas said to John, “go sit on the bed. I’ll help you.”

He waited for Zed to make a remark, but she said nothing. In a way Chas was glad that this had happened to John and not either of them, because John would never let them live it down.

Chas sat down beside John on the bed. He made fast work of undoing the knots before moving on to putting on John’s shoes and socks.

“Don’t angels have some way to hide their wings?” Zed asked. “So they can walk among humans undetected?”

Chas glanced up at John. “Do you?”

“Can’t see any reason why I’d want to do that,” John said, but his body language suggested that he probably didn’t know how.

“What are we going to do about his wings?” Zed insisted. “People are going to figure out that’s not a costume if they look close enough.”

Chas shrugged. “Blanket?”

John’s head snapped toward him and Chas chuckled at his expression.

“It was fine earlier,” Chas said, patting John’s shoe before letting his foot drop to the mattress. “And hopefully it won’t be an issue for much—” He stopped himself, becoming aware of what he’d been about to say.

“It’s bloody well not an issue now.” John stood, getting his bag and clutching it in front of him. Chas heard him mutter something about humans that he was probably happier not figuring out.

“I hope so.” Zed shook her head, her dread of being in public with John while he was like this already apparent.

“It’ll be alright.” Chas gave her a sympathetic look. “All we’ve got to do is get to the truck.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The walk to the open-air parking lot was uneventful beyond the stares and comments Chas was getting better at ignoring. Zed was less comfortable, but maybe that was good, a sign that she hadn’t been around John enough to have her sense of dignity slowly ground away.

It wasn’t until they reached their destination that they met their next serious obstacle.

John wasn't going to fit in the cab of truck.

“If the windows were rolled down, he could…” Zed shook her head. “Never mind.”

“We could rent a van,” Chas said, trying not to think about how it would have to be in his name, or what the likelihood would be that something terrible would happen to it. “If we can’t find a cargo type, folding the seats down might work.”

"Think you’re overlooking the obvious solution here." John gave a dramatic flap of his wings.

It took Chas a moment to realize he wasn't just being expressive.

"No," Chas said.

"Can you actually fly?" Zed asked.

“‘Can I fly’ she asks.” John rolled his eyes. "Of course, I can bloody fly. I'm not a sodding emu."

"No," Chas repeated, dread becoming an ever increasing weight in his stomach.

"While that’s one option,” Zed said, diplomatically, which was the exact opposite of how the subject of John being airborne needed to be handled, “you’d get there before us, and we want to keep the element of surprise."

“That’s not what you mean though, is it, love?” John shifted his grip on his bag, and the jacket he’d insisted on bringing even though he had no feasible way of wearing it. "You don't want me arriving without the cavalry, fair enough." He lifted his chin toward the truck bed. "I’ll ride in the back."

“No,” Chas said. It seemed to be the only word he had left.

John shifted his gaze to Chas, his head tilting in a way that seemed to say that he knew he was right, but he’d give Chas a moment to catch up.

Chas heard a low growl and it took him a moment to realize it was coming from him.

“You could ride in the back with him, make sure everything goes alright," Zed offered. "I'll drive."

"Could use the company," John agreed.

Chas looked from the cocky half-smile on John’s face to the alarming lack of concern on Zed’s. There was no way this wasn’t going to end badly.

Grumbling, Chas snatched John’s bag from his arms as he went to unlock the passenger door. He tossed the keys to Zed before setting the bag down on the floor mat.

By the time Chas had retrieved the rope he kept in the glove box, Zed had already climbed into the driver’s seat and John…

John was standing proudly in the truck bed while passersby stared as if he were the main attraction on a parade float.

Chas repressed a sigh as he clambered up beside him.

John’s eyes went to the rope in Chas’ hands and an eyebrow quirked in question.

Chas ignored it. “Get over here.”

As soon as John was within reach, Chas wrapped the rope around his waist, knotting it securely.

John pushed his hips into the contact. “Got a bit of a game in mind?”

“Yeah, it’s called not getting sucked out of the back of the truck.”

Chas found himself on the receiving end of a soft smirk, but he did his best to keep his attention on the task at hand. He anchored the ends of the rope to either side of the cab so that there would be enough slack for John to move around, but hopefully not enough for him to fall over the edge.

“Keep your wings close to your body—you don’t want to risk gaining lift,” Chas said, trying not to notice the way John was beaming at him again, as if he thought Chas’ concerns were delightful.

Zed slid the back window open. “I need that address, John.”

John leaned in to comply, resting a hand on Chas’ hip as if he needed it to steady himself. Chas knew he didn’t, but he tolerated it anyway. He found John’s fingers to be steady and surprisingly gentle.

Zed entered the information into her phone. “It’s going to be a twenty-two minute drive, according to this.”

Twenty-two minutes was a lot longer than Chas would like. Plenty of time to get noticed by the police. Or worse.

As if sensing his thoughts, John turned toward Chas. “Could always give us a boost, yeah?” He fluttered his wings.

Chas rolled his eyes and John grinned as if that had been his goal all along.

Chas lowered himself down into the bed of the truck, the metal already cooling with the evening temperatures. He leaned his back against the cab and watched while John got into place.

It took several tries before John could find a workable position. He finally settled on kneeling—on his jacket, giving it a purpose after all—while facing the front and holding onto the ropes.

Zed accelerated slowly so as not to jostle them, but the shocks on the truck left much to be desired.

Chas never knew how John was going to react to minor inconveniences like this, whether he’d hunker down and bear them, or if he’d spend the entire time griping about unnecessary hardships. But tonight he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the motion and wind seemed to exhilarate him, and he tilted his head back as if savoring the feeling.

The fading light created patterns of shadows on John’s wings, and as they passed beneath the traffic signals, green and red hues shifted across the pale golden feathers. He really was breathtaking, if Chas ignored the curse part of it. And it was good to see John happy.

Chas refocused his attention on the passing cars, mentally rehearsing how he’d explain the winged man beside him to the police if they were stopped.

November was still relatively warm in New Orleans, but after a few moments, the night air and the wind began to work their way under Chas’ jacket. He hunched his shoulders inward, burying his hands in his pockets.

It was too bad John hadn’t been wearing his jacket when the wings had appeared—it had to be worse for him with only his thin white shirt to protect against the cold. Sure enough, John’s body language was becoming more compact, and Chas watched a shiver run through him.

“Wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t so skinny,” Chas said, but the wind whipped his voice away.

John looked at him blankly. “What?”

Chas just shook his head.

John shrugged and went back to watching the road. He was shivering harder now. Even his position was more exposed than Chas’ and the wings seemed to be creating a backflow that was making it worse.

Rather than waste time shouting explanations, Chas tapped John on the thigh to get his attention and motioned for him to come closer.

When John bent down toward him, Chas began rubbing his hands up and down John’s arms, trying to work some heat back into him.

John seemed surprised, but he caught on quickly and leaned into the touch. After a few moments he moved so his mouth was close to Chas’ ear.

“Could use more of that, mate.”

Chas snorted. “Does it look like I’m stopping?”

John inclined his head in the direction of Chas’ lap. “It’d make it easier. Just for the ride.”

There was no innuendo in his tone, as if he’d decided he’d benefit more from being on good behavior.

It was still the sort of thing Chas should say no to. Probably. If John’s arms hadn’t been covered in goosebumps and his fingers even icier than his regular smoker’s hands...

Chas’ nod was closer to a shrug, but it was enough for John, who immediately straddled his thighs, wrapping his arms around him loosely. His wings formed a partial canopy above them as he nestled into Chas’ chest.

John exhaled loudly as Chas’ hands resumed massaging wherever he could reach, and Chas chuckled lightly to himself. Briefly, his fingers traced the perfect oval openings in the shirt around the base of each wing. He didn’t know what they’d do if this wasn’t reversed before they needed to do laundry. Cutting the shirt off wouldn’t be much of a solution. They could try to scrub John down with it on, he supposed, and absently Chas wondered if the wings were self-cleaning.

John had become progressively more limp as Chas worked, groaning whenever something felt especially good, but then he pushed himself up, putting his lips close to Chas’ ear so he could be heard.

“You’re so good to me,” John said, his voice a low murmur, before he dropped his head down against Chas’ neck.

Chas was smiling. He knew he was, in spite of himself. He could feel it big and wide, and he probably looked like a fool—but that was ok. Just for this moment, because at least he knew that no one else could see it.

 

#

 

When the truck came to a stop, John slid off of Chas before Zed could see them. He gave Chas a quick conspiring grin, and it was so familiar Chas found himself returning it.

Not that they’d been doing anything that _needed_ to be hidden from Zed, but, well, a lap-full of John would be challenging to explain.

John proved more adept at untying rope than shoelaces, and he quickly had himself free without Chas’ help. Chas found himself missing the chance to be of assistance, but he shook it off. It was ridiculous to want John to need him for everything.

Their destination turned out to be a small house with peeling paint and a porch that had become partially detached. None of the lights were on.

John lit a cigarette before depositing his coat in the front of the truck and retrieving his bag.

“We should talk about the plan,” Chas said. He’d intended on discussing it on the drive over, if their travel arrangements hadn’t made that impossible. “We can’t just barge in there.”

“Barging in is just a direct means to getting it sorted out,” John said, striding ahead of them, feathers buffeting Chas as he passed.

Zed gave Chas a sympathetic look before she cautiously followed John across the rickety porch.

Chas didn’t like this. Without his memories or self-awareness, John’s cockiness was significantly more likely to get them all killed.

When Chas caught up to John and Zed, he saw that the porch light wasn’t just off, but that the bulb had been smashed. Worse, the door to the house was ajar.

Zed leaned down to examine the busted lock and Chas made up his mind.

“Right,” John said. “Guess I’ll—”

Chas stepped in front of the others. “I’m going first.”

John frowned at him. “Noble as that is, seeing as you’re only human, it—” John’s argument was cut off abruptly as Chas stepped through the door.

Too abruptly for it to be anything other than magic.

The inside looked like what Chas would expect in an abandoned, rundown house, except for the total silence—not even the sound of insects or traffic penetrated the walls—and that there was a faint orange light coming from _nowhere_. He looked back and saw that no one was standing in the doorway. Definitely magic.

Hopefully, John would notice that Chas had disappeared, that something was wrong, and wouldn’t blindly follow him through—

“Got a bit of a listening problem, do we?” John said, appearing beside him.

Zed materialized next.

“The door’s a portal of some type,” Chas warned, even though it was too late.

“Of course it is,” John said.

Chas didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “We’re probably trapped.”

“Most likely.” John shrugged. “Now let’s go find the sod responsible.”

“Constantine?” A voice said from behind Chas.

Chas spun around, bracing for an attack, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Zed do the same.

A small thin man was sitting cross-legged on the counter, and Chas was certain he hadn’t been there before. Slick oily hair hung in black chunks across his face, making his eyes hard to see. Thick long nails were crusted with something Chas didn’t want to identify.

He wasn’t human. Chas might be as knowledgeable as John, but he’d been around this stuff long enough to know that.

“John Constantine…” the man said the words slowly, as if he were savoring them. “In my trap?”

“If that’s what you call this.” John nodded at their surroundings.

“You don’t remember me.”

Chas watched uncertainty flicker across John’s features. This was bad. This was exactly why they should’ve come up with a plan.

“We know you’ve been distributing candy that changes people,” Zed said, stepping forward.

The man didn’t respond, instead he leaned first one direction and then the other, as if seeking the best angle to appreciate John’s wings.

John looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but he seemed to shake it off.

“Why change people into what they spoke to?” John asked. “What was the sense in that?”

“To remind people what was important. To find what commands their attention. And let it consume them.”

John went still the way he did when something slid into place, some piece of knowledge that would become the workings of a plan. But then he relaxed again, the moment passing so quickly that Chas didn’t think anyone else had noticed.

“Except that’s a bloody random way to go about it,” John said.

The man allowed his shoulders to rise the slightest bit. “There’s poetry in your case.”

“I’m not a case.”

“You’re not an angel.”

“Don’t be daft.”

The man leaned forward, hands wrapping around the edge of the countertop. When he spoke again his voice was almost affectionate.

“John Constantine: the human magician who damned a—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Chas said, placing himself between the man and John. “Look, we just need you to undo it. All of it.”

The man’s focus transferred to Chas, his grin widened, and there was something awful about it, like a snake distending its jaw. Chas felt a prickling up his spine, and he knew that this was one of those times where he was going to end up using a life.

Chas was pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his arm. “What doesn’t matter?”

Chas looked down at John’s searching expression and felt his stomach sink.

“Just—all this talk. We’re wasting time while people could be getting hurt.” Chas could tell John didn’t believe him. As usual, he was far too good at being perceptive at all the wrong times.

John moved to the side of Chas to once again confront the man directly. “Well, are you going to tell me, or are we going to have a stab at twenty questions?”

Chas started, “John, don’t—”

“You’re destined to spend the rest of eternity in Hell,” the man said.

“Angels can’t enter Hell, not unless…” John’s expression changed as if he’d been struck. He glanced at Chas. “Am I fallen?”

“No, of course not,” Chas answered quickly. It wasn’t a lie, not really, and if it got that look off John’s face then that’s what was important. Now was not the time to have John fall apart.

“It’s true,” Zed said. “You’re not fallen.”

John’s brow remained creased, and for a moment Chas worried that he wouldn’t believe them, but then John shook his head.

“Don’t see why you’d think I’d take the word of…” John ran his eyes over the man, “someone not worth remembering over my nearest and dearest.”

“You don’t remember them either, not really. Or the time your screw up damned a little girl and took your soul along with it. Your memories are faulty at best while you’re playing angel, or else you’d know that you’re as far from divine as you can get.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Zed said, and John glanced back at her, but Chas couldn’t see his expression, only hers as it crumpled with dismay.

The man saw it too, and he extended his fingers, raking his nails lightly across the counter like a cat in the sun.

“Surrounded by bleeding skeptics,” John said, defeat in his voice. “Fine, if it’s proof you need, I have it right in here.” He began rummaging through his bag. “Give us a sec.”

The man’s focus was on John, and Chas took the opportunity to creep closer, his fingers dropping to his knife. When John showed him whatever proof he’d come up with this time, Chas would make his move. At best he could subdue him, and at worst, well maybe he could buy the others some time.  

“Here it is.” John held out his hand, fingers curled over his palm.

The man bent down to get a closer look.

“See, what makes me an angel,” John said, opening his hand to reveal a pinch of shimmering blue dust, “is that I do righteous work.”

Recognition and alarm flashed across the man’s face, and he started to pull back, but not before John blew.

There was no cloud. No dispersal of particles into the air, instead it was like iron filings to a magnet as each speck adhered to their target.

Chas averted his eyes, unwilling to watch after the first of sticky specks began to open up, like a multitude of tiny devouring holes. He wished there was some way he could also block out the _sounds_.

When the creature was gone, John turned toward Chas, his bright, proud smile so incongruous with what he’d just done.

“Don’t know whether to be impressed with your acting skills, or be insulted you’d think I’d believe I was a human just because that prat said I was.”

“That was…” _brutal_. It wasn’t that killing someone—or something—wasn’t something either of them would be willing to do, but John, at least regular-John, wasn’t usually so quick about it. And he was much more likely to let the threat destroy itself, rather than do it directly.

John must have been able to sense Chas’ disquiet, for he moved closer, his expression becoming serious.

“He’s not actually dead, not sure if there is a way to do that.” John spread his hands out in concession.

“But if he’s not dead…” Chas’ eyes traced the arch of John’s wings. “Won’t the effects from a spell only go away if the caster reverses it or dies?”

“But lucky for us he wasn’t a magician, so the rules aren’t quite the same. And as soon as his essence dissipates, we’ll have—”

John lurched forward, gasping, and Chas caught him before he hit the ground.

“Chas—his wings,” Zed said, and there was as much hope as alarm in her voice.

Confused, Chas looked down and then he understood—they were gone. The back of John’s shirt was as smooth and unbroken as if nothing had ever been there.

John shuddered, but before Chas could react he was already being shoved away. John backed away from them, his dazed expression quickly morphing into one of comprehension.

“You alright?” Chas asked.

Something dark ripped through John’s eyes, too fast to identify before he masked it.

“Couldn’t be better.” John glanced around until he found the exit, and he began to back toward it. “That was Jedra. Trickster, purveyor of malevolence, and all around seedy bloke, and he’ll be spending the next decade gathering his particles from all the places I sent them.” There was a bitterness in how the last part was said, as if John thought that fate wasn’t unpleasant enough.

“Right,” John said, looking from Zed to Chas as if he was afraid one of them was going to say something. “Well, now that the ugliness is taken care of—I’m knackered out. I’ll be heading back to the hotel.” He pivoted and fled.

Zed took a step after him. “John—”

“Let him go,” Chas said.

“He seemed—”

“He’ll get over it.” Chas looked at Zed, but she didn’t appear convinced. “I’ll talk to him. Later.”

She shook her head, but slowly, as if she’d decided he was wrong but would let it go this once.

By the time they walked outside, John was nowhere in sight.

“I suppose he’ll find his own way,” Zed said.

Chas nodded absently, looking at the empty spot on the passenger’s seat where John’s jacket no longer was. “He usually does.”

 

#

 

Chas heard the alert on his phone just as he was raising his hand to knock on John’s door, and he stopped to pull it from his pocket.

It was pathetic how willing he was to use any excuse to delay this confrontation.

He opened the email and saw it was the pictures the teens had taken earlier that day. It was difficult to remember why he’d thought they’d be funny. Maybe eventually, but right now seeing John’s face so free of shadows was anything but.

The last one was the worst, the one of them together, where Chas had been too busy scowling to notice that, for all of John’s amusement, he was the one looking at Chas as if he were the light of his life.

He closed the file and slid his phone back into his pocket.

Chas still had John’s keycard, but he knew John would have had no trouble getting into the room anyway. Chas knocked on the door, but there was no answer—he didn’t expect John was eager to talk either—and after a short wait he let himself in.

John was sitting at the head of the bed, frowning down at his toes. At the sound of the door opening, he shifted to sit cross-legged and reached for a cigarette.

Chas made no comment. He noticed the bottle of whiskey on the end table but no glass beside it, so either John hadn’t started yet—or he intended to drink straight from the bottle.

Chas needed an innocuous way to break the tension. Anything had to be better than waiting.

“Guess it’s safe to put the lamps back now,” Chas said, and the way John’s face pinched he knew it had been the wrong thing. Christ, he was bad at this.

“There’s no need to look so bloody grim,” John said, snuffing his cigarette out, and then frowning down at it as if he’d forgotten he’d just started it. “Really, it’s good for a laugh. John-fucking-Constantine, an _angel_. Just the kind of story to tell over drinks.”

Chas retrieved the plastic-wrapped disposable cups from the sink and took them over to John. He poured them each a drink.

“It wasn’t funny,” Chas said as he sat beside John on the bed, “not under the circumstances.”

“It’d have been better if it was funny.” John sighed and took a long sip. “That’s the trouble with tricksters. They pretend there’s a moral lesson to be learned, but then go and throw so much chaos into the mix as to make it impossible…or fatal.”

Chas looked down into his cup, trying to think of how to lead into what he wanted to say. Not finding a good option, he took a swig for courage instead.

“So,” Chas said finally, “last time we were here—”

“Christ. You don’t have to bring that up.” John looked away sharply. “Look, I wasn’t myself.”

“But it wasn’t all bad. I mean, there were some parts you liked?”

The wrinkle in John’s brow went from puzzled to incredulous. “What like kissing you?”

Chas blinked at him for several seconds before he realized where this conversation was going wrong.

“No, about being an angel,” Chas corrected.

He watched John’s expression sour, just for a moment, just long enough for Chas to know he’d hit a sore spot.

“Can’t see why I would.” John made a show of taking a slow drag on his cigarette, as if he wasn’t the least bit interested in the conversation. “Wasn’t like it was an upgrade or anything. Who’d want to be a cloud junkie, anyhow?”

“Seemed like there were a few perks.” Chas shrugged, playing the game. “Having the power of Heaven on your side, being able to fly—possibly—and that whole get-out-of-Hell-free card.”

John gave him a look. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

Chas waited.

“Besides, none of that was what it was. It was…” John scrubbed a hand briskly over his forehead before shoving it back through his hair. “Oh hell, it was the _conviction_. The knowledge that I was always bloody well doing the right thing. My actions, my existence—all of it was blessed, destined to be—to be...” John snatched his drink off the table. “What does it bloody matter.”

John downed the rest of the cup in one pull, and he handed it back to Chas.

Chas refilled it and gave it back. “I’m sorry.” It felt inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.

John shook his head. “Don’t be bloody sorry, it wasn’t bloody real, and that can’t be good for anyone, pissing around, thinking they’ve got God’s big green go sign floating above everything they do. Turn anyone into a hopeless wanker.”

“Guess it could.”

“Of course it would. Spend some time with Manny and you’ll see. Sodding agents of God.” John smirked, but it didn’t last, and his gaze fell to his drink, his smile bitter. “He was an unbearable prat.”

“Manny?”

John didn’t raise his eyes as he shook his head no. “Angel-me.”

“He had his good points.”

John’s eyes snapped to Chas’, his expression betrayed. “Did he now?

“I’m just saying that I like all the yous.” Chas shrugged. “Even when you’re an unbearable prat.”

John laughed, despite himself, but he looked away, unwilling to share the moment and risk being teased out of his mood.

“You don’t have to angel-sit me, not any more,” John said, after a moment. “You can go out to a pub or do what you like.”

Chas shrugged. “I’m fine here.”

John rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ll be alright. An experience like this just takes a bit to fade.”

“Would a distraction help?”

John shook his head.

“At least hear what I have to offer.”

John sent him a skeptical look, but Chas wasn’t deterred.

“First, come over here.”

John’s brow furrowed. “I’m half a meter away, how much closer are you wanting?”

Chas held out a hand.

John stared at it, but he didn’t take it as understanding spread across his features.

“I’m not a good idea,” John said carefully.

Chas was ready for that. “Nope.”

John looked up at Chas sharply, affronted, even though they’d been his words. It bit at Chas’ heart, but he stuck to his resolve—the easy way was rarely successful with John.

“Well,” John said, standing up, “It’s good that we’ve reached an understanding.”

Chas was ready for that too, and as John moved past him, he seized him and tugged him down into his lap.

Somehow, after everything that had happened, John actually looked surprised. But he didn’t resist as Chas took hold of his chin and guided him into a gentle kiss.

John exhaled forcefully, his breath a little puff against Chas’ lips, and there was something almost desperate about it—as though John believed that, one way or another, this would lead to goodbye.

But then John’s arms were around Chas and he was kissing him back, hard, as if he wanted to devour the moment, make it a part of him so it couldn’t be taken away—because if there was a mistake to be made, John wasn’t one to shy away from it for long.

Which, if Chas were honest, was something that could be said for both of them.

Chas pulled away and said, “But you’re my bad idea.” He gave John his best conspiring look.

John snorted at him, but there was happiness lurking beneath it—Chas had gotten some decent practice at recognizing it—even if John did manage to keep it in check.

“If you want to be,” Chas added.

John laughed, and it was the first time it sounded genuine since he’d been back to himself.

“Was that funny?” Chas asked, more for the sake of conversation than because he actually minded.

“You’re asking my permission _now_?”

“Seemed like the thing to do.”

“ _After_ you dragged me into your lap? Stole a kiss or two? A bit late for that, isn’t it?”

Chas held back a grin of his own. “Want me to dump you back on the floor?”

John tightened his arms around Chas’ back. “Like to see you try, mate.”

“So, are you accepting?”

“Which part?” John’s eyes focused on Chas’ and it was easy to see the challenge in them. “Your offer of distractions, or that bit about being _yours_?”

Chas felt his stomach flip at what John had done to his words, but he found he didn’t object to the twist.

“Either.”

John’s eyes grew heavy-lidded as he pulled Chas into deep kiss—and Chas found that was more than enough of an answer for now.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to [Plaidshirtjimkirk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Plaidshirtjimkirk) and [RowanBaines](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines) for beta reading this!
> 
>  
> 
> RowanBaines' lovely art for this story is posted [here!](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/116870970346/a-drawing-for-druxykexys-amazing-story-the)


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